You're My Best Friend (Pt. 2)
The wind rose, and the sky seemed to cloud over, and it grew colder, with a remarkable silver-blue mist that rolled across the streets. The feeling of deep misery stuck with Dibby and deepened, she was tempted to turn aside and curl up into any convenient alleyway or in some half-opened garbage can. But without warning, like a foreboding cloud, a shadow stepped into the light of the full moon. “Hey ghirly, you’re ‘bouta get mugged!” Before Dibby knew it, she was, in fact, mugged. Something punched her in the back of the head, knocking her onto the pavement. Before she got the chance to get a good look at the thing that attacked her, it picked her up by the mask and pushed her against a building. It was a broozer with a morphed, broken jaw. He spoke with a syllable lisp similar to that of a drunken sailor, his boxing mitts in tatters. “Whell, we can do disth the easy way, or the hard way…” Under normal circumstance, boo’s never felt traditional pain. However, Dibby’s shy guy mask acted as her barrier between the mortal coil and the afterlife; in other words, every nerve resided on the surface of the mask. Dibby braced for another impact. “HEY, FINBAR, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOIN’?” That voice. That annoying shrill of a voice! Francis caught the balled fist before it could crash into Dibby’s silicone mask. The broozer stumbled backwards before crashing into a clutter of trash cans. “C’mon Francis! Go findth your own fun!” The broozer protested as he peeled moldy garbage off of his body. The broozer then got up from his spot and pushed past Francis, his glare shooting needles down upon Dibby. “You stupid bitch,” he brought up his hand and slapped her hard across the face. Francis stared in shock — or was it in some satisfied awe? That's when she couldn't handle it anymore. Dibby’s telekinesis flung him back the way he had come, down the twisting, dark alleyway. The broozer screamed as he was lifted and hurled faceforward into a screaming shoal of trash cans. He could not even fall. The psychic power kept him aloft, buffeted him, bounced him, tossed him back and down and away from the others, out of sight suddenly as he was swirled around a bend in the alleyway. The broozer’s face had been bloodied, his eyes closed. Francis looked on in perverse horror, his beak half-open with disbelief. As Dibby struggled to get up, she noticed something; was that a boo next to Francis, or was she seeing things? Then another appears, then another… were they gawking at her? No, their stone gazes were focused on Francis, waiting in nervous anticipation. "Whaddya think, Harv?" One boo asked another, nervously lighting another cigarette, "think it'll be any good?" "Don't know, Sid," said Harv, "we'll have to see." Dibby felt the lump her ghost-stomach grow as Francis’ expression turned from deep concern to disheartening malice, taking long, grueling steps toward her. The cold moonlight filtered into the alleyway just enough to see that his gaze was averted from her own. Was he hesitating? “Francis?” She instinctively backed herself into a corner as the small raven closed the distance between them. He brought his fist into the air before winding it back, ready to KNOCK DIBBY OUT. Before she had enough time to block his fist, the explosion smashed through her. Dibby screamed out, but madman Francis clamped down on her ghost-body and the scream turned into a dribble of whispered nonsense rhymes. Francis held her by the mask for as long as his little bird arms could muster, before throwing her against a brick wall. Dibby tried with all of her might to shoot one last energy ball at Francis’ cranium, but she only had enough energy to close her eyes. As Dibby fell into unconsciousness, the sheer pain gnawed its way into her belly and then crawled up through her body and into her head. The sweet, sweet bliss of darkness fell over her as she hit the cold pavement.